


On New Wings

by SilverSkiesAtMidnight



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Stiles, Blow Jobs, Established Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Harpies, Kissing, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Porn With Plot, Protective Derek Hale, Rimming, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Wing Kink, Wingfic, Worried Derek Hale, mild size kink, near death by falling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-14 02:36:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20593283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverSkiesAtMidnight/pseuds/SilverSkiesAtMidnight
Summary: The tree branches flutter, a mere ten or so feet below him, not getting any closer. He can hear the pack shouting now, gathered beneath him, but he’s not paying any attention to them.He’s completely distracted by the massive, tawny wings that beat above and beside him, sprouting from his back.“Oh holy fuck,” he gasps.Okay.Okay. Brand new situation here, time to reassess. Possibly his entire life.





	On New Wings

As the harpy’s claws clamp tight around Stiles’ leg, pain ribboning through his flesh as the deadly tips sink in, his first thought is: _Derek’s going to fucking kill me,_ followed immediately by:

_No, the fucking harpy’s going to kill me first, unless you pick up the goddamn pace, Scotty!_

Scott tries his best. It makes no difference. He’s still a solid thirty feet from Stiles when the harpy launches off with a piercing shriek of victory, Stiles clutched in her talons. 

Cold air slashes across his skin as he’s dragged into the sky as fast as her wings can take them, plummeting upwards into a sea of storm-tossed clouds, the forest spreading far too quickly outwards beneath him. He goes from desperately struggling to break free to clinging to the harpy tightly, as his stomach swoops as fast as gravity wants to take the rest of him. 

Below, the sound of howling wolves rises with him. 

“Fuck, fuck, oh fuck, I really fucking hate this!” Stiles shouts back into the wind, knuckles turning white where he grips the scaly claws holding him. The harpy carrying him cackles. Her two sisters have joined them in the sky, dipping and gliding around them, chattering to one another in their strange high-pitched tongue. 

He doesn’t hear the whistle of the arrow over the deafening wind and their cries, but he sees it hit the sister just ahead of them, hears the awful scream that tears from her throat as her wings crumple, and her sisters scream with her. In unison, they dive after her as she falls, the one carrying Stiles included. 

His stomach hits the back of his throat, the claws let go, and suddenly he’s left in tumbling free-fall. 

_Thanks, Allison, real great plan there. _

As quickly as they’d withdrawn on the way up, the trees now grow to meet him almost leisurely, rising up in a swell of dark green velvet that becomes more and more jagged the closer he gets, a blurry and fast-approaching end he can just see through his watering eyes. 

And down, far below, he thinks he can just see the specks of his friends, looking up at him, watching in horror as he plummets to his death. 

He wonders which blurry speck is Derek. 

The next thought fills his mind like water, rushing in like the trees from somewhere deep inside him: 

_I am not going to make Derek watch me die._

The thought settles, strengthens, becomes: 

_I am not going to die._

For once, in the face of impending doom, his brain doesn’t fight him. Instead, he instinctually let’s the thought wash through him, filling him with calm and steady determination, filling him until the thought that he is about to die doesn’t have room to even occur to him. There’s an electric feeling that builds like a thundercloud behind his ribs, warm and sharp and static, looping its way around his bones and gathering between his shoulder blades.

He closes his eyes. 

There’s a _snap_ through his whole body, the thundercloud bursting from his back with a ripping that feels like thunder and a _floomp_ that hits his ears like a clap as he’s jolted so hard that for an instant he’s terrified his spine has snapped.

He cries out against the suddenly still wind, and his eyes snap open. 

The tree branches flutter, a mere ten or so feet below him, not getting any closer. He can hear the pack shouting now, gathered beneath him, but he’s not paying any attention to them. 

He’s completely distracted by the massive, tawny wings that beat above and beside him, sprouting from his back. 

“_Oh holy fuck,_” he gasps. 

Okay. _Okay_. Brand new situation here, time to reassess. Possibly his entire life. 

_Priority one,_ he settles on. _Get back to the ground._

He can do that. He can _totally_ do that.

He has no idea how to do that. He does his best anyway, and he only hits most of the branches on his way down, flapping the great wings clumsily and smacking them against the tree trunks with every gawky and unpracticed beat.

He doesn’t so much land as crash, knocking the wind out of himself and banging his leg painfully into a rock, but he makes it down alive. 

Stiles is _alive._

He lies on his back, gasping for breath, his new wings pinned uncomfortably under him and pine needles digging into his skin as the sound of multiple pairs of footsteps running towards him reaches his ears.

Derek’s ashen face is the first to appear in his line of sight. 

_“Stiles,”_ he says urgently, hands opening and closing like he desperately wants to help but doesn’t know what to do. Instead, he ends up just standing there above him, careful not to step on the sprawling wings beneath Stiles, like the useless wolf he is.

Stiles waves up at him and laughs, still mostly breathless. “So, can now confirm. It did hurt when I fell from heaven, thanks for asking.” 

Scott appears abruptly next to him. _“Stiles, holy shit!”_

Allison joins him, face streaked with tears. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t know she’d drop you!” 

“Did you _know_ you could fly?” Erica blurts out, popping up on her other side, at the same time as Isaac shouts, “Dude, that was so cool!” 

“Why didn’t you tell us you could grow _wings?_ You don’t think that could have been good to know?” Jackson snaps, though even he looks a little shaken. 

Stiles raises a hand to get their attention, really hoping he doesn’t have to shout right now, and is so very grateful when they all shut up. “Imma answer all your questions real quick: I don’t know. Not a clue. I’m as surprised as you are.” 

Lydia, lovely, level-headed Lydia, nods like this is a perfectly normal thing to happen on a regular, harpy-hunting Tuesday. “Deaton,” she says decisively. 

“Deaton,” a chorus of others agree. 

…

“Wait it out, the vet says!” Stiles complains loudly, awkwardly folding his brand-new ten-foot wingspan in to wedge himself through the door of Derek’s house. “Your spark will settle and your wings will probably go away on their own, he says! Dude, why do we even bother with that guy? When does he ever actually tell us anything useful?” 

Derek nudges him forward another foot so he has room to close the door behind them. “I seem to remember you lying on the ground telling everyone you had no clue what was going on, so what’s that line about glass houses?” 

Stiles flaps a wing at him, nearly smacking him in the face and tipping over the lamp next to the couch. “Excuse you, haven’t you heard the news? You can’t talk to me like that anymore, I’m a _spark!_ I’m pretty sure that means I can totally kick your furry ass now. Be intimidated, damn you!” 

“You’re a menace is what you are,” Derek rights the luckily unbroken lamp. “You don’t even know how to get rid of the wings you summoned by sheer _luck,_” he bites out, and Stiles stills, cocking his head as he looks back at his boyfriend.

The words are right, the same snark and banter he’s come to not only expect but love, but the tone is entirely wrong. It’s too sharp, too jagged, not laced with the affection and fondness Stiles is pretty sure no one but him has quite learned how to read but that’s almost always there if you listen. 

But right now there’s something else.

“It wasn’t just luck, you know,” Stiles says quietly. Derek turns to face him, looking him in the eyes for the first time since he fell, and there, yes, is the ragged fear hidden in his voice, laid bare for only Stiles to see. “Aw, Der, c’mere,” he reaches out, and barely has he opened his arms before they’re filled with werewolf, desperately burying his face in Stiles’ neck to scent him. 

“I watched you fall, and I couldn’t do _anything,_” Derek whispers brokenly, clutching at him fiercely as though terrified Stiles will vanish where he stands. “I couldn’t save you, I couldn’t protect you, I just had to stand there and watch you - ” he breaks off with a whine, pressing his nose harder to his throat as Stiles runs his hand through his hair and softly shushes him. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay. _I’m_ okay, Derek. I didn’t fall, I didn’t die. I’m right here, I’m safe. Derek, do you wanna know what triggered the wings?” Derek hums questioningly against his shoulder, and Stiles gently pushes at him until he reluctantly pulls back to meet his eyes. “I decided I wasn’t going to let you see me die,” he says steadily, ignoring the flinch that runs through Derek’s body at the very words. “I decided I was going to come back to you, no matter what it took, and I did. And I’m _always_ going to, you understand?” He cups Derek’s face in his hand, cradling it as the wolf leans into his touch. “When you can’t protect me, I’ll protect myself. Because I love you, and I’m not going anywhere.” 

Derek reaches up to catch his hand, pressing a shaky kiss against his palm. “You can’t promise that. Not really, not with the lives we live,” he whispers, voice aching with hurts past and predicted. 

“But I _am,_” Stiles breathes, and as he says it, he feels _it_ again, the snapping coil of power in his chest and echoing behind his words. He wills it to show, feeling the crackle of static behind his eyes, to make Derek understand that he _means_ it with every ounce of himself, and Derek’s eyes widen, golden light reflected in his pupils as his lips part in shock. 

Derek’s fingers reverently trace across his cheek, and then their lips are crushed together with almost bruising force. 

Stiles stumbles backwards slightly, balance thrown off by the weight between his shoulder blades, but Derek steadies him easily. 

“If you wanna take this to the bedroom, you’re going to have to carry me up the stairs or I AM going to fall and break my neck,” Stiles murmurs into Derek’s lips, then promptly yelps as he’s swept off his feet and carried swiftly towards the stairs. 

The tip of one of his wings catches on the banister, and Stiles has to bury his face in Derek’s shoulder to muffle his laughter at the aggravated look on his face. 

“You’re not even trying to help,” Derek whines. 

“Okay, okay,” Stiles says, still snickering. He pulls his wings in awkwardly, as close to himself as he can. “Try now.” 

Derek starts again up the stairs, careful not to crush the tawny feathers against the banister or wall. He maneuvers them through the bedroom door and finally into more open space, effortlessly dropping him onto the bed. 

Stiles hooks his arms around his neck, pulling him down with him. “You know that’s really sexy when you pull out the wolfy strength. I think you should totally carry me around more often.”

“And I think neither of us wants the amount of shit Erica would give us if I did,” Derek snorts, running his hands along Stiles’ sides. He pauses. “I think I’m going to have to rip your shirt to get it off.” 

“Aw, man, really?” Stiles whines, pulling back to look down at his Transformers shirt, still splotched with dirt from the forest. “I really liked this one.” 

“It’s already ripped around your wings, I don’t think there’s any fixing it even if you could wriggle out.” 

Stiles throws back his head dramatically. “Fine,” he sighs. “Just get it over with.” 

Derek’s hands slip around to his back, carefully hooking his fingers into the rips in the fabric. He pulls it apart as easily as paper, and helps Stiles tug the remains off over his head. 

“Ah, shirt,” Stiles says mournfully. “You were a good shirt. You will be missed.” 

He tosses it over towards the trash can. Then, he looks up, to find Derek gazing intently at his wings, lips parted slightly. 

“Can I touch them?” Derek asks softly. 

Stiles nods slowly, startled into silence by the intensity of the look in his eyes. 

Carefully, Derek reaches out to the arch of the nearest wing. Stiles feels his breath catch as his fingers finally make contact with the feathers. 

Gently, ever-so-gently, he traces the tips of his fingers along the ridge that lies beneath the downy layer, and a shiver runs through Stiles, the feathers fluffing at the touch. Becoming more confident, he curves his palm around the delicate bone, petting down the soft underside towards the glossy primaries. 

“They’re so soft,” Derek murmurs, lips curving up. “Do they - I mean, can they feel? Like, can you feel me touching it right now?” 

“Yeah,” Stiles whispers, entranced as he watches the course of his hand. “Yeah, uh. It feels...weird. Sort of muted, ‘cause you’re not touching skin, but sensitive at the same time? I can feel every feather you touch.” 

Derek huffs a faintly awed laugh, running a finger along the very edge of the wing, sending a shudder down Stiles’ spine. 

“Okay, shirt off, _now,_” Stiles declares, tugging impatiently at the annoying clothing still between them. 

Derek pulls away for barely a second, removing the shirt so quickly Stiles is pretty sure two shirts have met a tragic end today. 

Stiles hurriedly tries to get his own pants off in the meantime, but Derek’s faster. In a flash, he’s got his own shirt off and his hands hooked in the waistband of Stiles’ pants and underwear, pulling them all the way off from where Stiles has managed to tangle himself in them. One hand wraps carefully around his still-sore and bruised knee, one thumb stroking it as black lines thread their way up the werewolf's arm, before he surges back up to shove his tongue into Stiles’ enthusiastic mouth.

Without breaking away, Derek stretches an arm out to rummage in the bedside drawer, finally withdrawing the bottle of lube and uncapping it. Stiles goes to take it from him, but Derek pushes him back. “No,” he murmurs, leaning up to press a single, gentle kiss to his lips before kneeling on the ground between his legs. “Let me make you feel good.” 

Stiles leans back to give him access, bracing himself on his arms to avoid laying on his own wings.. 

He’s expecting the cold touch of lube against his hole, so he jerks in surprise when Derek’s soft lips wrap around the head of his cock, and he lets out a low groan. Derek sucks him down as Stiles’ hands knot in the bed sheets around them. 

The werewolf makes the most _sinful_ fucking noises as he slurps at him, trailing his tongue along the sensitive underside as Stiles nearly chokes on his own spit, hips bucking up without his consent, even as he tries desperately to control them so he doesn’t accidentally choke the other man.

As if he can read his mind, Derek pushes forward even more, letting out careful breaths through his nose. Stiles forcibly presses his pelvis down against the bed when he feels the head of his cock bump the entrance to his throat, and then he lets out a strangled cry as he’s swallowed down, his cock dipping into the velvet warmth of Derek’s throat. 

“Jesus Derek, holy shit, jesus fucking christ,” he babbles, his wings curving around without any thought on his part to brush long feathers against the back of Derek’s head. He lets out a pleased moan, which sends such lovely vibrations through his dick that Stiles nearly comes right there and then. 

As it is, he only makes it about another minute of Derek’s gorgeous mouth moving on him before he’s tugging on the other man’s hair frantically. “Derek, I’m gonna -” he gasps. 

Derek pulls off of him with a wet pop, leaving his cock to bob an angry red and so hard it’s almost painful. Stiles’ first instinct is to pull him up to kiss him deeply again, but before he can, Derek is laying little kisses along the sensitive insides of his thighs, making him quiver. He works his way down, around his swollen balls, until finally he reaches his eager ass. 

The moan Stiles lets out when his tongue finally dips inside him is positively whorish, Derek’s pupils dilate even more at the sound, eyes almost completely black. He laps and nibbles at his hole, drinking in the little whimpers and whines Stiles gives as he does. 

“Derek, please fuck me, please, I’m ready,” he pleads, keening as his tongue just brushes his prostate. 

The other man pulls back at last, wiping at his mouth, and doesn’t _that_ motion do things to Stiles, his cock jerking without even being touched. 

The pad of Derek’s thumb strokes across his puckered entrance. The touch disappears momentarily, and Stiles hears the squirt of lube before the fingers reappear, dipping coolly into him. He gasps, pushing forward against his hand as two fingers, silky with lube, sink into him. Derek crooks his fingers, pressing squarely against his prostate, and he jerks, throwing his head back as pleasure rockets up his spine.

“Oh fuck yeah, more, more please,” Stiles babbles, and Derek huffs a warm breath against the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. 

“Greedy,” he says, and pushes a third finger in, and Stiles keens. 

Derek stretches him carefully, scissoring his fingers open, watching the way his wings twitch, so responsive, every time he brushes against the spongy gland. 

Finally, Stiles hooks a leg around Derek’s waist, tugging until Derek removes his fingers and lets him push him down onto the mattress. He straddles the werewolf, wings spreading over them both automatically to steady himself. “I swear to god, Derek, if I don’t have your cock inside me within the next thirty seconds, I’m smothering you with a wing.”

Derek lets out a tiny, punched-out breath, and Stiles cocks his head, an awed grin spreading across his face. “_Really?_ The wings do it for you that much?” 

“Shut up and fuck me,” Derek growls, and Stiles is thrilled to oblige. 

He sits back on Derek’s sturdy thighs, reaching out to pluck the lube from his hand. Derek’s hands cup his hips as Stiles takes hold of his deliciously sized and already hard and leaking dick, even though this is the first time tonight either of them has touched it. He dribbles a liberal coat of lube over it, wrapping his fist around the base, and Derek lets out a hiss, legs spreading a little more. 

He strokes the way he knows works wonders on the werewolf every time, flicking his wrist and running his thumb over the slit with each stroke until Derek’s hips are bucking with every tiny motion of his fingers, panting harshly. “There you go,” he says breathlessly, grinding his leaking cock against Derek’s thigh as Derek whines high in his throat. “There you go, I got you.” 

Eventually, he can’t take it anymore. He lets the cock go, where it bobs, fat and red, as he adjusts himself, taking hold of it again to guide it to its mark. Finally, he presses down, his eyes slipping shut and mouth popping open at the wonderful, familiar burning stretch. 

He pushes himself, the slight pain only heightening the sensation. His wings arch outwards, muscles flexing, and he moans aloud.

Derek is panting, teeth clenched around a groan as his hands grip Stiles’ hips like his life depends on it. 

Inch after agonizing inch sinks into Stiles, filling him so deliciously he can’t breathe with it. After what feels like ages, he bottoms out, and they both let out a shuddering breath like they’ve been punched. He pauses, taking a moment to just catch his breath and adjust to the size filling his every hidden corner. 

Gingerly, he begins to move, bracing his hands against Derek’s hips to push himself up. 

He rises and falls, Derek’s cock dragging against his insides as if they don’t want to give it up, then punching slowly back in in a way that takes his breath away.

“Stiles,” he gasps. His hands move, roving along Stiles’s sides and thighs, wanting, _needing_ to touch as much of him as possible. He looks up at him, eyes soft and awed, watching the expressions that move across his face with every motion. “Stiles, you’re so fucking beautiful,” he breathes out. 

Stiles tilts forward, pressing them even closer together like he wants to melt into him, hands tangling in Derek’s soft hair. His face is flushed, and his freckles stand out like stars against the pink-tinged skin. Behind him, his wings spread out, curving over them both protectively. The feathers shine with a golden light in the sun coming through the window, dark spots speckling them like copper snow, and Derek is so goddamn grateful for him that his chest hurts, like the feeling is too big for even his werewolf body to contain. 

His hands curl up along the muscles of Stiles’ back until they meet feathers, and he wraps his palms around the base of his wings and squeezes. 

Stiles lets out a shuddering gasp, his hips stuttering in their rhythm. “Holy fuck,” he gasps, grinding down on Derek hard enough to leave bruises on a human man, taking him as deep as he possibly can. 

Derek pushes upwards in response, his hips rising to meet Stiles every time he falls, the sound of their skin slapping together mixing with the sound of rustling feathers. “Stiles, I’m going to - ” he tries to warn, but Stiles just picks up the pace, bending forward to kiss him. 

“Come on, then, come in me, Derek, fuck me full,” he whispers, and his eyes shine with an unnatural gold.

Derek throws his head back and howls.

Stiles can feel the wolf cock swell within him, filling every last inch that he hadn’t even realized was still there to fill, and the heat filling his abdomen pushes him over the edge as well. The pleasure bursts in him like a firework, his own dick spurting across Derek’s abdomen untouched, robbing him of all the air in his lungs. Power crackles through him, through them both, and he _feels_ Derek come, right alongside him, pleasure shared as though they’re one, a feedback loop that wrings them out and tangles them back together again. 

Surrounding them, his wings shake with the force of it, heightened by Derek’s hands carding through the sensitive feathers, and his vision goes white.

When he comes back to himself, he’s gasping against Derek’s chest, draped over him like a feathery blanket, the other man murmuring soothingly into his hair, completely spent. 

Derek shifts, pulling out of him and making him whine at the discomfort as the cock slips out of his oversensitive ass. Derek shushes him, grabbing a box of tissues off the side table and sloppily cleaning them both off. He tosses the used tissues somewhere in the same direction as the ruined shirt, before wrapping an arm around Stiles, tucking him into his warm side, which Stiles all too happily burrows into. 

“Jesus,” he says at last into the silence, still sounding winded. 

“You can say that again,” Stiles hums in agreement. “So do you think the sex is gonna be this great all the time now that I’m a spark?” he mumbles into Derek’s ribs. 

“I don’t know,” he murmurs back. “I think more experimentation is needed.”

“But not tonight,” Stiles says resolutely. 

“Not if either of us wants to be capable of getting up tomorrow.” 

They lay there for a while, resting and enjoying the peaceful afterglow. Stiles is just starting to doze off when Derek pokes him lightly in the side, eliciting an annoyed “whurf?” noise from him. 

“I can’t pull the blankets over us with you covering the whole bed,” Derek whispers, sounding far too amused. 

“That’s okay,” Stiles mumbles back, shifting his wings to more thoroughly cover them both. “I’ll be your blanket and you can be my wolfy space heater.” 

He feel Derek’s lips curve up against his hair. 

Neither of them says anything else that night. They fall asleep bundled in warm feathers, both safe and secure.

They happen to share the same thought in the last moments before they drift off:

_I think I’d do anything for him._

…

The sky above the forest is clear and bright and blue, a perfect picture of serenity. Good visibility for Allison, currently perched in a nearby tree with a pair of binoculars.

“You’re sure about this?” Derek dips his head to whisper, anxiety lining his eyes. 

Stiles pats him on the arm, concentration focused on keeping the humming energy between his shoulder blades under control until it’s time. “I got this, Der Bear. Just make sure everything goes smoothly on the ground, and leave the rest to me.”

“They’re close,” Allison calls down from her perch, already climbing swiftly down, leaping the last few feet to where Scott waits to catch her and put her on the ground. “I can see them on the horizon.” 

“Everyone, take your positions,” Derek orders in his proper alpha voice, which Stiles would find extremely hot if his attention wasn’t so occupied.

Isaac, Lydia, Allison, and Boyle all nod in acknowledgement, turning and spreading out to their assigned spots. 

Stiles breathes, the careful, controlled breaths he’s been practicing for weeks now, the phantom prickles of feathers against his back. His hands are shaking, but he’s not afraid. 

He hasn’t really gotten a hold of the techniques Deaton has been working on teaching him about sensing other beings yet, but right now, as hypersensitive as he is, he swears he can feel exactly where in the sky the harpies are, growing closer quickly, as clear in his mind’s eye as though he’s already above the trees and watching. 

He reaches out, taking Derek’s hand and squeezing it, once, tightly, and Derek squeezes back just as fiercely. They let go just as the remaining harpy sisters crest the tree line with shrieks of fury and vengeance. 

The remaining pack members wait in a line, all in fighting stances.

The harpies land in front of them, talons sinking into the soft earth, faces twisted into expressions of sheer and utter hatred. 

“Killers!” One screams, a piercing sound that makes the wolves wince ever so slightly. 

“Our sister’s hunters!” the other wails. 

“Come back to die in payment,” the first hisses.

“Not killers, plural,” Stiles speaks up, stepping out from behind Derek, to vicious snarls and spitting fury. “Hi guys, remember me?” He looks at the harpy he recognizes as the one that pulled him into the sky that day. “Want to come over here and finish what you started?”

And, mindless of the row of werewolves standing right behind him, they take the bait, and lunge. 

And Stiles lets go of the power he’s been holding back. 

His wings explode free, and he launches from the ground. None of the wolves make a move to intercede.

Maybe if the harpies had been a little brighter, that would have been a tip off. Ah, well. 

He’s faster than them, but only barely, and they have much more experience at flying than he does. He shoots straight up, talons raking at his heels, heart in his throat. 

_C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,_ he chants in his head.

Time stretches out, the clouds slowly sinking down to meet him, and with every second that feels like a year, the fear that something’s gone wrong grows, that he’s missed the mark, that the pack didn’t manage to complete the spell in time. 

He hits the barrier with a _snap_ that rips through his whole body like a painless shock before he passes through it.

Behind him, the harpies don’t. 

There’s an ugly _crack,_ like the world’s largest electric bug killer being struck. It’s over before they can even scream. 

He spreads his wings, slowing his assent until he’s hovering, looking down through the magical barrier he can’t see but can _sense_ now, mirage-like beneath him. 

Among the trees that spread wide and green beneath him, he can just hear the victorious howls of wolves.

Grinning, he tucks his wings in, and dives.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all!! This is one of my first attempts at smut, so I'd love any feedback, positive or negative!! Thank you bunches for reading! :D


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